


Two Roads (Diverge Into One)

by Ofdragonsandwolves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys loves her children, Daenerys x Being Alive, Daenerys x Not Losing her mind over bells, Daenerys x Not listening to male advisers who would poison her in like two seconds, Daenerys x Remembering who she is, Drogon and Rhaegal aren't just weapons of war, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Ghost x Being the goodest boy who deserves all the scratches, Jon x Not Whatever mockery they made him in season 8, Jon x Not being a Queenslayer and kinslayer (because seriously what the fuck), Missandei is a precious angel who must be protected, Missandei is the best friend everyone wants and no one deserves, Ser Barristan Selmy didn't die in a back alley, also fuck D&D, and realizes that war and maybe even Westeros isn't what she wants, anything after s8e3 does not exist to me, because he isn't the little bitch that D&D made him, especially by scorpions with better gps than i have, except Arya the sweet murder child that she is, fuck the north honestly, i love the dragons and wolves, i wholeheartedly and emphatically reject EVERYTHING else, i'm still bitter and it isn't getting better, they won't be harmed or killed, well i'll add the first few minutes after episode 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:49:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofdragonsandwolves/pseuds/Ofdragonsandwolves
Summary: She never feared becoming her father, not until people told her she should. Daenerys had followed her instincts and dreams and brought dragons back from stone. Losing one dragon to someone else's advice should have woken her up. It wasn't until the end of the world when she started to realize she was losing herself to become what they wanted her to be. But she's never been very good at playing someone else's game.





	1. Chapter 1

"Leave us, please." Daenerys commanded softly, her eyes on the broken body of her golden son. 

 

"Your Grace," Missandei murmured, walking past her and stopping only briefly to touch her hand to her brokenhearted friends before leaving, though she didn't go far in case she was needed.

 

Drogon and Rhaegal stood on either side of their fallen brother, shifting restlessly as they stared down at him. She had been told once that a dragons intelligence far outweighed that of man's, but hadn't believed until she watched her children grow. They weren't mindless beasts. They listened, they learned, they played, and they understood. They grieved Viserion. She could feel their grief. They could feel hers. 

 

Her eyes fell back to Viserion, remembering how he had came to rest on this hill overlooking Winterfell.  Rhaegal had brought picked him up from the courtyard of Winterfell, his body held gently in Rhaegal's massive feet and talons as he flew them away from the walls and the dead. He had stood guard over his brothers body. Both he and Drogon had slept beside him the last few nights, as they recovered from the fight. Where they had been united against him during the battle, once he had fallen they immediately accepted him as Viserion and not whatever monster the Night King had made him.

 

She looked over his mutilated body, the horror of it a leaden weight in her stomach. His wings were full of holes where he decayed. Half of his jaw was ripped off. There were deep gashes on his stomach, his sides, even his back where his brothers had raked their claws into him. His scales and hide still had the slightest hint of blue where they had once appeared pure golden. He looked broken, he looked monstrous, if he were a song it would be as a warning of how evil consumed.  But as she looked upon him, she still thought him one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Her son could never appear anything differently to her.

Daenerys walked forward and crouched beside him, her hand trembled visibly as she touched the undamaged side of his face. She could feel as Drogon took the slightest step forward, his wing coming out to shield her from view of anyone who may be looking their direction. With that protection, she laid her head on top of Viserion's and wept silently. If anyone had gazed upon her in that moment, she was no longer a queen. Merely a broken hearted mother, crying over her child.

 

_ "A dragon is not a slave." _   She whispered to him in Valyrian.  _ "I am sorry for what I allowed you to become. Rest now, my love. Fly high and free in the Night Lands with your ancestors and wait for me." _

 

She stayed there for a moment, draped across Viserion, absently stroking her hands across his scales and spikes, as she tried to commit the feel of him to memory. She had done this once before, the night she had set Drogo free as well. She took a deep breath  _ letting go is the hardest part _ , Daenerys reminded herself.  _ Let him be at peace now. _ She placed a soft kiss on the tip of his snout and stood, moving away.

 

" _ Dracarys _ ."

 

She watched as her children lit their brother on fire, their fire coming in rhythmically. First Rhaegal, then Drogon, then united. Where he was once immune to their fire, now his decaying wings caught fire first and spread quickly, engulfing him. She held back her sobs and only allowed one tear to escape as Drogon and Rhaegal moved away from their fallen brother to surround her. Since they had lost Viserion, her remaining children preferred to be near her, not straying further than a few leagues at time. Ever since that horrible battle only a couple of days past, they were always within sight of the walls of Winterfell. Daenerys wasn’t sure if they were staying close to protect her, or if they stayed close for her to protect them. When they were small they were much the same, always preferring to be near her, her presence a comfort to them.  _ A mother’s love _ , she mused absently, the flames casting her face in shadow,  _ a comfort I have never known _ . She had never known the security that came from knowing your mother would protect you, of knowing that her mother would give her last breath so that Daenerys may have one more.

 

_ She failed him. _

 

She watched quietly as the flames spread and burned brighter. Viserion has been her most loving child, the one who had curled around her, who had slept in her arms like a baby. He perched on her shoulder even when he was too big in an effort to be close to her. He was friendly and curious and didn’t find fault or fear in humans. He trusted those who she trusted. He even trusted her when she locked in him the dark with Rhaegal, for something that they had no part in. He knew when she locked the collar around his neck what she was doing and still he held his neck out for her to have better access. When she came to visit them, to be near them, to feed them he had reacted with glee to see her, shooting brief bursts of flame in welcome, nudging his head against her in joy. Viserion had encouraged her to sit and lean against him, fallen asleep to the softness of her voice, and nearly purred in contentment while he slept beside her. Had she not locked them in he may have grown as big as Drogon, his scales harder to penetrate. The Night King may not have taken him so easily. He would not have been forced to become a monster.

 

She could still see how he had flown in to battle. His wings full of holes and decaying, his eyes blue and fierce and utterly empty. He had not recognized her when he looked upon her, had not recognized his brothers. He was a shell of himself, an instrument of death that he would have been horrified to have become. Rhaegal had to fight him the most, in the thick unnatural storm so she wasn’t able to see most of it. They were the closest. As small hatchlings, they had played like puppies, they had slept curled around each other. When they grew bigger they were chained together, their bond deepened by the experience. After they freed themselves, they were a tight unit of two. They loved Drogon and Daenerys, they would sacrifice the world to save them, but they would have sacrificed the world  _ and _ Daenerys and Drogon to save each other. She had felt Rhaegal’s horror, his distress, his rage at what he was forced to do. She felt the loss and sorrow he carried with him over the loss of his brother. She hadn’t felt anything from Viserion. She would never feel anything from Viserion again.

 

_ She failed him. _

 

As she watched his pyre burn bright unable to see him through the flames, the grief was overwhelming. She had lost so much in her life. Her brother, who raised her and terrified her. A husband, she was forced to kill. A child she had unknowingly sacrificed. Friends who had sacrificed themselves for her, friends who had betrayed her. Advisors and lovers and the loss of freedom. She had lost herself and forged herself in fire twice. Jorah, who had loved her more than any other person ever had, who died for her. Her people, so much of her armies. But to lose Viserion, to have him reborn into something cold and cruel, and then have to see him die again? Yes, he was finally at peace now, he was able to rest, but her chest felt like it could collapse under the pressure of her grief. She felt as if she could go mad with her grief. How much could one person take? When did she get to rest?

 

Drogon and Rhaegal let out loud roars, raising up and flapping their wings, their roars turning to keening wails. The very air vibrated in a the song of a dragon’s grief. Across the North the lament echoed, stopping people and animals alike in their tracks to share one moment of complete sorrow. When the dragons settled back down beside her, Daenerys reached an arm out to each of them, laying her arm on their hardened scales. Rhaegal immediately laid his head down on the ground beside her, his keening had turned quieter, but no less intense. He let his anguish out for his mother to catch and she knelt beside him, taking her hand from Drogon as she spread her arms around Rhaegal’s snout, hugging him in the only way she could now, to absorb as much of his pain as she could. She wished he were still small enough to curl in her arms, so she could shield him with her body.

 

“I am so sorry, my sweet.” Daenerys whispered, her own tears falling as she held her son. “It was my fault. I didn’t protect him and you are paying the price for my failing. I hope that in time you can come to forgive me.”

 

_ As I will never forgive myself,  _ she thought to herself as she pressed herself closer to Rhaegal, feeling the steam from his breath surround her,  _ I failed you all. _

 

Drogon pressed his snout against her back lightly and then laid his head on the ground next to Rhaegal, offering his comfort to his brother. Drogon had always been slightly aloof from his brothers, preferring his mother’s companionship or preferring to be alone. Daenerys tried to remember the last time they had been so close and she didn’t remember a time after they were all three small and slept curled around each other. She shifted, pulling back slightly from Rhaegal to reach out for Drogon also. She knelt between them now, hugging them as best she could, giving comfort, taking comfort. They were her children, they were her family, and she would never grieve another child. They would never grieve another sibling.

 

“I promise you both,” Daenerys said fiercely, her tears drying as she pulled back to look at each of them. “I will protect you. I will keep you safe. I will kill anyone who means to harm you. You will live in freedom for far beyond me. But you will have each other. This is my pledge to you.”

 

For a moment the wind grew stronger, the flames behind them grew brighter, and Daenerys could almost swear she could feel Viserion standing behind them, feel his breath at her neck. But when she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing but smoke and fire and bone where there had once been him.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon was still avoiding her. Or maybe she was avoiding him. She didn’t know and didn’t try to figure it out. The last time she had seen him was after the battle when Grey Worm had helped her inside. Jon was suddenly there and they had both stopped for a moment and just  _stared_ across at each other before they rushed forward at once towards each other. She tripped, stumbling slightly and then she was in his arms and they held each other tight. He pulled back for a second, rubbing his hands over her arms as if to check for injuries, frowning at the blood on her forehead, and then frantically pulled her back to him. One of her hands wrapped tight around his neck, the other buried in his hair and the tighter he held her close, the easier she could  _ finally _ breathe. Of course, it didn't last long. People called out for them and they reluctantly pulled apart. Daenerys caught a glimpse of Sansa behind him, her face full of hate for a brief second before it was wiped clean and she pulled Jon away. He gave Daenerys a brief smile, squeezed her hand and then followed Sansa. It was after that, when Daenerys and Grey Worm found Viserion and her legs buckled under her. It was Grey Worm who caught her. And it was Missandei who showed up at that moment and saw her fall who held her as she broke inside.

 

She hadn't seen Jon, but for brief moments in the days since. He was surrounded by his siblings,  _ cousins _ , when she did and she just didn't have the energy to deal with their obvious disdain for her, didn't know if she could speak to them calmly when they didn't even acknowledge her people, who they let suffer and die for them but couldn't bring themselves to greet. Instead she surrounded herself with her people, she sought the injured out, tended to their wounds where she could, held their hands where she couldn’t, and whispered prayers over those who wouldn’t make it. She wasn’t sure that she believed in any gods but those who did found comfort in the prayers, found comfort in hearing their own tongue, found comfort in their Queen being with them. 

 

Her head was dizzy with the back and forth of languages, she would speak to one in Dothraki, answer another in Valyrian, only to whisper to someone in the Common Tongue. Her exhaustion was beginning to get the better of her. The last proper rest she had was days past. Before Jon began avoiding her, before she learned the truth, before the battle and the fallout. Perhaps the last proper rest had been on the boat riding North. Or on Dragonstone when all three of her children slept on a cliff overlooking the sea. Or in Meereen. Qarth. Vaes Dothrak. Pentos. Braavos. Perhaps she had never had a proper rest.   

 

She swayed slightly, ignoring her muddled mind, her fatigued body.  _ I must be their strength,  _ she had said this once to Jorah, ignoring the way even the thought of his name sent a bolt of pain to go through her.  _ I must continue to be their strength _ .  _ If I falter now, their faith in me will have been for naught. They left Essos for me, have crossed the Narrow Sea for me, followed me in a battle that became a slaughter. I will not fail them too. _

 

She could not bear to think of Jorah, her sweet old bear. He had sworn his life to her so long ago, had been a source of comfort for her, had betrayed her and broken her heart. Turning him away had been one of the hardest things she ever did. When he saved her in the fighting pits, it felt like part of her heart had mended. When he showed her his afflicted arm, it had cracked open again. She thought, to her shame, that when she sent him away to find a cure that she would never see him again. But no, he showed up and had not left her side since, other than the ill fated wight hunt that had not even been necessary in the end. Even in the height of battle, he heard Drogon's roar and came to her aid. Taking strikes, so many strikes, meant for her. He only fell after the wights did when he knew Daenerys would be safe. She sobbed over his body, Drogon curled around them. When Grey Worm and other Unsullied frantically came calling for her, she had them take Ser Jorah from the fields then. 

 

After she had come across Viserion's body, she had left the broken walls of Winterfell to look for another son she thought fallen. She found Rhaegal injured but alive and cried, checking his injuries in the dawn light. Drogon flew and landed beside them. She stayed for a short time with them and then left them to rest. She had greeted and consoled those who survived, taken note of who did not, she had cleaned Jorah's wounds and washed his face and changed him herself, determined to be there for him and take care of him in the way she hadn't in life.

 

Daenerys stayed working for hours the days before the mass funeral, long gruelling hours helping where she could, aiding and assisting. People of the North were there too, watching her work with incredulity. They heard the Dothraki call her Khaleesi, saw the braids and bells she still wore in their honor, but they didn’t know what it meant, not truly. She became a Queen in her own right, but first she was a Khaleesi. When she killed Drogo, when she birthed her children from stone and had her own small khalasar that walked the Dothraki sea, she was expected to put the work in herself. They were a team who worked together. She was not afraid of hard work.

 

“My Queen,” Missandei’s voice came from her right and Daenerys turned to look at her through bleary eyes. “You can do no more tonight.”

 

Daenerys looked around. There was still so much to be done. So many wounded, so many tired. So many bodies for their pyres tomorrow. She shook her head. “I must help.”

 

“You  _ have _ helped, Your Grace. Please, you must eat.” Missandei’s voice was soft, calm, but undercut with steel. Her worry for her queen, for her friend, overtook her. “You can do more good tomorrow. But now you must rest.”

 

Daenerys didn’t even see her move, until she came and wrapped her arm around her, until she heard Missandei whisper in her ear. “You are exhausted, Your Grace. I could see it from across the field.”

 

But Daenerys shook her head in protest. She couldn’t rest. In her dreams she saw the Night King’s smirk through dragonfire. She saw Jorah stabbed, over and over, pushing her behind him to take another knife meant for her. Qhono’s blue eyes. A sea of Unsullied rising in their armor. Jon clinging to Rhaegal and screaming her name. Jon and Rhaegal fighting the Night King and Viserion. She saw Rhaegal falling from the sky, convinced she had lost another child. Drogon covered in wights as she urged him through their connection to fly away from her. She saw Viserion’s blue flames. She  _ felt _ Viserion’s blue flames.

 

“I will stay with you tonight, Your Grace.” Missandei whispered, as she guided Daenerys out and back to the castle. 

 

“No, you should be with Grey Worm.” Daenerys found her voice, determined for her friend to be with her love. He had made the decision to sacrifice his own men for the rest of them to have a chance. Grey Worm couldn’t close his eyes without seeing a slaughter of his own.

 

“He will survive one night without me, Your Grace.” Missandei murmured, before sending a sly look her way. “Perhaps I need a break, as well. For one night.”

 

The subtlety of Missandei’s mirth and innuendo shocked a startled laugh out of Daenerys before she could help it. Missandei gave Daenerys a playful look and a gentle smile, relieved she had brought something beyond poorly disguised shadowed horror to her friend’s eyes.

 

“I have arranged for dinner to be brought to your room tonight, My Queen.” Daenerys smiled slightly in relieved thanks, that for one night she wouldn’t have to put on a show. Not that anyone in the North paid the slightest attention to her during meal times. “But I have a bath waiting for you first. Hot, the way that you like.”

 

“Bless you.” Daenerys murumerd fervently. She missed the heat of Meereen. Westeros was so cold, even in the south, that these hot baths were what she looked forward to the most.

 

She remembered a hot bath on the ships, sailing here. Jon joining her, yelping at the heat, before he was distracted by bare and slick skin. Later, when they had thoroughly flooded the room, Jon’s skin was bright red and at her concern he laughed it off saying it was a small price to pay.

 

_ No. _ She cut that line of thinking off as quickly as it began. Remembering Jon, what they shared before they reached this cold and unforgiving place, before he was surrounded by his family and pulled away from her was too much on top of everything else.

 

_ "You are my queen,"  _ Jon told her time and time again, but he had suddenly lost all other words when it came to her. She remembered when he came to Dragonstone, how unimpressed with her he had been at first. But he has never been afraid to say what was on his mind. When she asked him for his opinion, he gave it to her. When she didn't ask his opinion, he gave it to her anyway. Here, in this cold and distant north, all of his words had ran out. 

 

_ He says I am his queen as if that is all I mean to him. I’m his family too, _ Daenerys cried out in her mind with a twist of her heart, but she didn’t say this out loud because he had not given her the right. She would not beg him to love her. His decision to stay away from her was heard loud and clear. The Northerners had watched with narrowed and suspicious eyes when they had first arrived and had been so close together all the time. But as Jon obviously sought to avoid her before and after the battle, they had lost their suspicion.Of course, they had also lost even pretending to respect her and had chosen to ignore her but for the bare minimum. As Sansa continually tried to undermine her, even after Daenerys and her people sacrificed everything for the ungrateful North, they reinforced the hatred of her being a Targaryen.

 

_ If only you knew. _ Daenerys thought as they walked through the hallway to get to her room. _ How would you react to the news that your king is a Targaryen too? _

 

****************************************************************

 

Missandei was running a comb through Daenerys’ hair the next morning, getting ready to plait it for her. Her mind was more clear today, having slept curled against Missandei. The warmth and comfort of another beside her, who she trusted and loved more than most had brought a comfort that Daenerys hadn’t expected. It allowed her to fall into a slumber that, while wasn’t free from terror, was certainly lessened.          

 

“What troubles you, Daenerys?” Missandei asked, having long ago given up pretence of calling her  _ Your Grace _ or  _ My Queen _ while they were in private.

 

Daenerys let out a weary sigh, debating if she should ask what had been troubling her. But as she looked up at Missandei and her concerned face, she was reaching out to grab her hands, to pull her gently down beside her.

 

“What do you think of Westeros?” Immediately Missandei’s face cleared of all expression, her true thoughts a mask behind her eyes. Daenerys let out a small chuckle and set back with a sigh. “That bad, hm?”

 

“What are you asking?” Missandei was wary, which immediately made Daenerys worry.

 

“The people, the country. What do you think of it?” Daenerys pressed. Missandei was her dearest friend, her most trusted adviser, and Daenerys just realized she didn't know what Missandei's thoughts on Westeros were now that they were actually in Westeros.

 

“Daenerys, this is what you have fought for. Since I have known you, your goal has been to take back the crown stolen from your family.” Missandei was dancing around the truth, trying to soothe a queens ego when at that moment Daenerys was just speaking to a friend.

 

“I know. But I am asking what do you think of this place? Could you be happy here? Answer honestly, for no harm or prejudice will befall you in these chambers.” Daenerys squeezed Missandei’s hands slightly, looked into her eyes to better read her thoughts and did not like what she saw. “What have you not told me? Be truthful, please.”

 

Missandei looked away, but not before Daenerys saw the tears in her eyes that she tried to hide. Anger became a knot in Daenerys stomach as she listened to her friend speak.

 

“In this room there may be no prejudice, but beyond that door that is all I am met with. People do not speak to me, children run from me when I greet them. I have seen the way they look at me, the way they look at Grey Worm, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki. They see us as less than. They allowed us to be fodder in their battle, to amass the most loss so that they may be protected, but they do not thank. They do not see.”

 

“They are cruel to you?” Daenerys demanded, wondering how she didn’t see. She had been distracted by the battle, by Jon, but that did not make up for her shortcomings, it didn’t absolve her of blame.

 

“They are cruel to you, Daenerys. Why would they not be cruel to those who have pledged themselves to you, as well?” Missandei asked her quietly and they both sat in silence for a moment.

 

“Were you happy at Dragonstone?” Daenerys asked and instead of replying Missandei looked at her and then glanced down at her hands.

 

_ Unhappiness and death and fear. That is what I have led my people to,  _ Daenerys thought savagely.  _ What kind of Queen am I? _

 

“In Meereen?” Daenerys pressed,  _ let her have been happy with me once. _

 

“Yes,” Missandei whispered, still staring at her hands. “But I think you were happier there too.”

 

“Tell me, Missandei. If you weren’t here with me, where would you go?”

 

“Home. To Naath.” Missandei’s eyes were glazed and far off, remembering the home of her childhood before she was so cruelly ripped away. Daenerys watched her for a moment.

 

“Would Torgo Nudho go with you?”

 

“We spoke about i…” Missandei trailed off, her eyes wide with horror. But Daenerys wasn’t angry, she knew what it felt like to want to go home, instead she smiled and touched Missandei’s cheek softly.

 

“I will miss you dreadfully, but I will give you a ship. You do not belong to me. Your life is yours to lead as you wish.” Missandei and Grey Worm may have been the people she trusted most in the world, but if it came down to their happiness or hers, she would choose theirs every time. 

 

_ A queen doesn't belong to herself, she belongs to her people,  _ Daenerys reminded herself for the thousandth time since she crossed the Dothraki sea.  _ If my dearest are unhappy, what chance do I have of making the rest of the people who follow me happy? Above all, Missandei's happiness comes before mine. _

 

“Do you know the first time I spoke to Jon Snow, he asked me if I belonged to you?” Daenerys startled at this revelation, he thought she kept  _ slaves _ ? They were doomed before they ever began. “I told him no and he asked me if I wanted to go home, what would you do?”

 

“What did you say?” Daenerys voice was small and quiet, achingly vulnerable and it turned Missandei's heart over but also caused a bolt of rage to go through her. This country, the North in particular, had taken her friends fire from her, had tried to make Daenerys small so that she may fit into their ideal of what she should be.

 

“I told him you would give me a ship and wish me well. Just as you have done. I am not leaving you, Daenerys Stormborn. My place is here, at your side.” Missandei squeezed  Daenerys' hands gently, placing them in her lap.

 

“No,” Daenerys said firmly. “Your place is where you make it.”

 

“I choose to make it here, with you. As does Grey Worm. As does everyone who follows you. You make impossible things come true when you believe in yourself.” Missandei hoped her words would open Daenerys' eyes, that she could help guide Daenerys from the darkness she saw sometimes lurking behind lilac eyes.

 

“I don’t think I believe in myself here. I am losing myself.” Daenerys whispered. “I have listened and listened and listened to what everyone has told me and I am losing.”

 

“Then stop listening.” Missandei said simply. “I have told you before, you see a path that none of us do. Where is that guiding you? Is it the Iron Throne? Then take it.”

 

“And if it isn’t anymore?”

 

“Then we board ships and go where you lead.”

 

“I have sacrificed so much here. My child, my armies. Was it all for nothing?” Daenerys eyes were wet with tears, her face open and vulnerable in a way she allowed very few people to witness and it twisted Missandei's heart to see her friend and queens confidence in herself shaken so badly.

 

“You helped save the world. The Night King would have covered us all in darkness eventually. That is not for nothing.” Missandei sat straight, met her eyes fearlessly. “You still have two children. You have what is left of your armies here. You have advisers you trust and an army untouched by war in Meereen. These may not be your people. But there are so many who call you Mysha, so many who serve you. Do not let this place take that from you.”


	5. Chapter 5

    The smell of burning bodies hung heavy in the air. It was all Daenerys could focus on as she sat at the table and watched as the survivors celebrated. She had known the smell of death. When she married Khal Drogo, it was a rare moon that at least one did not fall. As she and her khalassar crossed the Red Waste, her people, their horses and her sweet Silver died from lack of water. As she freed the Unsullied, as she took Slaver’s Bay, as she liberated the slaves, the rotten smell of death clung to the very foundation of the cities. When the bloody flux rampaged her city and countless had died, there had been times the stench was too overwhelming to venture out for fresh air. But the smell of so many burning brought forth a different level of horror that she did not expect. Outside, the air was still thick with the ash of the pyres, some fires still burned while others smouldered and the rest had thankfully burned themselves out. Occasionally, the roar of one of her children would echo from overhead as they flew through the smoke. Rhaegal was still injured, healing slower than Drogon, but he had taken to the skies again finally.

 

    She felt Jon staring at her, knew without looking the brooding look he would be giving her. Daenerys had asked Tyrion what Jon Snow was like, in those days they waited for him to sail south to them, and he had told her that Jon brooded better than anyone he had ever met. She had even seen it for herself in those early days on Dragonstone. But then the looks changed and for awhile when he looked at her, his gaze was soft, his eyes were warm. For the first time in her life she had felt secure and confident in someone’s love for _her_ , not as a queen, not as the mother of dragons, or a conqueror, or a million other titles she held. With Jon, she was merely Daenerys. Dany. She had thought they were an impenetrable unit, so secure in their love for each other she had not once considered any other alternative. The sun rose, the sun set, their love for each other was like the wind. All were constants in her life. Now when he looked at her, she felt chilled to the bone. His eyes were shuttered, no emotion shone forth. His touch was foreign to her now. The last time he had touched her was the hours after the battle, when they rushed forward and clung to each other desperately. Since then, there had been nothing. They had warned her the North was cold and far from everything she had known, but she had not expected this total isolation.

 

    Yet, she could not stop from turning her head to look at him. The magnetic pull between them was strong. No matter how she hurt, she was still drawn to him, still felt that connection to him. When their eyes met, time stopped and then stood still and all she could see was him. When his face softened and his lips turned upwards to a smile she had not seen in weeks, she felt as if she could break down weeping. Instead, she smiled back at him and her heart stuttered inside her chest. Their attentions were both taken in separate directions then, but it was the first time she had felt hope bloom inside of her in weeks.

 

The party continued on as they continued to steal small smiles and glances towards each other. She felt pulled in so many different directions. There was a part of her that felt like a small girl once again, shy and flirting in sly looks and soft sighs. Yet, there was something ningling at her, something she couldn’t put her finger on. When she had seen Gendry stand to leave the hall and had halted his retreat, Daenerys could _feel_ the room come to a stop, could feel the tension as she addressed the usurpers son knowing his identity. The stunned disbelief after she legitimized him and made him the lawful heir of Robert Baratheon made the very air heavy with disbelief. _They see you as the Mad Kings daughter_ , she reminded herself. _But you must show them who you are truly. I have never punished a child for their father’s mistakes and I will not start now. I know all too well the burden it is to carry your father’s crimes._

 

Jon had looked at her with a stunned and grateful expression that she couldn’t help but smile in response to. Then his attention was pulled away, a crowd of laughing and jeering men surrounded him and Daenerys peered closer, watching them. She couldn’t see his face, he was sitting on the table angled away from her, but she didn’t need to see his face to picture it perfectly in her mind. No, she watched those who surrounded him, saw their faces light up when he looked upon them, noticed the way they stood just a little taller and prouder when he laughed at whatever they said to him. These people respected him, they admired him, and they followed him. It was not that they were a cold and indifferent people. When they accepted someone, they were as warm and open as anyone else she had ever met. It was just her. They didn’t respect her, they did not follow her. No matter what she had done for them, it still was not enough in their eyes.

 

"I saw him riding that thing," Daenerys suddenly heard Tormund’s booming voice and was forcefully pulled from her own thoughts. "That's why we all agreed to follow him. That's the kind of man he is. He's little, but he's strong. Strong enough to befriend an enemy and get murdered for it. Most people get bloody murdered, they stay that way. Not this one!"

 

Daenerys was so stunned by Tormund casually stating to the whole room about Jon’s resurrection that had once been so secret to her that she nearly missed the rest of his intoxicated speech.

 

"What kind of person climbs on a fucking dragon?” Tormund roared, throwing his arm around Jon, drink spilling from the horn he was so sloppily waving about. “A madman or a king!"

 

_You did once,_ Daenerys thought for a brief second but then the room cheered and she could only look around in saddened disbelief. They cheered Jon for riding one of her dragons? She had birthed them, she had raised them and protected them as best she could. The secret to caring for dragons had been lost for centuries, but she had discovered it on her own. She had lost a child to save the North, she had brought her children here to protect these people. Daenerys had ridden into battle with Drogon and they had saved Jon twice in battle. Dragon fire may not have defeated the Night King, but it was she and Drogon who had blasted him, who had been witness to the coldest smirk, who had almost been struck but one of those horrible ice bolts and _Jon_ was the one they cheered. He was the one who was praised for her accomplishments.

 

_This is only the beginning_ , she realized with growing horror. _Once they know who he truly is, they will call for my head to be mounted on a pike so that he may take my children and my throne to claim them for his own. They will never support me now. I have done everything and still my accomplishments will be his gilded pathway._

 

Jon looked over at her with a rueful smile and she hid her expression for a moment to fake a smile before he turned back and her expression dropped the moment he was not looking. He would not want it, of course. She knew that Jon was not actively conspiring against her. But the moment that he told anyone else, it would become too big to control. There would be so many plots to overthrow her, so that they may seat him on the throne instead of her.

 

She looked at Sansa, who she knew would spearhead the movement herself. Sansa had no love for Daenerys, had been at best openly hostile and merely verging on treasonous. They had one private conversation the entire time that Daenerys had been in Winterfell that ended in more animosity on both sides. Jon had told her about his sister, late one evening as he laid with his head in her lap and she brushed played with his curls. What had happened to her, what monsters had done to her and Daenerys had felt a strange kinship to her. She knew how it felt to be sold into marriage for someone else's political gain, how it felt to be raped and defiled to be paraded about as a prop for her pretty face. She had also been taken, had been whipped so that everyone may see in an attempt to humiliate her and remind her of her place, which was less than. Like Daenerys, Sansa had taken all of that pain, all of that degradation and had risen above it, risen above those who would oppress her. She had hope the two women could become friends even, yet as she listened to Jon speak, he still spoke of Sansa as a little girl which Daenerys knew even then was not the case. One did not suffer everything Sansa had suffered without growing up, becoming hard in many ways. So Daenerys had even understood the Lady of Winterfell's reservations when meeting her, it would be difficult to greet her with open arms even after Sansa's king had bent the knee. She did not like it but she had accepted it. It was only when Sansa made her contempt of Daenerys, her armies and her dragons known for the leaders of the North to hear, when Sansa invited their contempt and discrimination towards Daenerys with her own, did she realize the depths of the hostility and just how deep her cynicism and scars ran. Sansa would do anything, play any game to ensure Daenerys never touched the throne, not when her brother, _cousin,_ had a better birthright.

 

She shifted her gaze, coming to rest of Varys. His allegiance shifted like grains of sand. He had supported her father, had supported the usurper, Joffrey, and now her. Would Jon be next? She already knew his frustration because he could not fully control her. She listened to him more often than not, had tempered herself at his advice yet he still eyed her with mistrust. He had supported her, had helped her gain alliances with Dorne and the Reach, yet she could not forget Jorah's warnings. _Do not trust the Spider, My Queen. He will trap you in his web and hold you there before you even realize_. Varys had been complicit in the assassins sent after her and her unborn child, a fact she never forgot. Would he see Jon as the better king? She could see them still cheering him, praising him, and knew that Varys would see the contrast of him surrounded and her alone and his allegiance would shift again.

 

Suddenly, she realized what she had missed earlier when she had the feeling she could not place. She was alone. Tyrion had gone to sit beside his brother. Varys was staring at her as he lurked in the shadows. Her trust in him was rapidly declining. Missandei and Greyworm were placed at the far end of the room, so that it would be impossible for them to be near her. She looked around the room again with intent this time, taking note of every face. They were all Northerners. None of her people were here. She had no planning in this feast, had no say in who was invited in places of honor. Yet she had naturally assumed that some of her own would be here. They had been the bulk of the fighting forces, they had sustained the most losses. To not even be honored by the Lady of Winterfell? Daenerys felt her ire rise as she looked upon Sansa, who was staring at her with such open hostility for the briefest of moments, before she turned back to her brothers.

 

_Trouble._ Daenerys thought to herself as she raised a brow and then looked back around the room. This was not where she belonged. Her face took on such unimaginable sadness. _All that I have suffered, all that my people have suffered. It was all for naught. But I will not sit here and watch any more of this mockery of a celebration._

 

She rose quietly and walked from the room, feeling Varys gaze on her the entire time. No doubt he expected her to go to her rooms, but she followed a long hallway and walked out the doors. She could hear them in the distance and it was all she could do to not run for them. It would not be seemly for a queen to run across the snow and ice, but she did allow her steps to quicken as she got closer. She could hear their bells tinkling, could hear the music they played, and as she walked into the camp she smelled the spices of the food cooking that thankfully masked other smells, the horses whines. The sound of metal swords sharpening, so many voices speaking. When they saw her walking, they rose in greeting, echoes of _khaleesi_ and _my queen_ surrounding her. Their acceptance was immediate and soon she was seated and eating horse jerky, laughing at the outrageous stories. The Dothraki did not mourn in the way others did. They celebrated the lives who were lost as they were now free in the night lands. Missandei joined her a short time later, sitting close to Daenerys and laughing quietly behind one hand. She felt Grey Worm come up behind them, a few Unsullied with him. The fires at the camp grew larger and warmer, the stories became more suggestive, the jokes less clean than they had been. Dothraki were fighting, as was their way of celebrating, some Unsullied stood around them at attention, while others had fought their conditioning and were sprawled out on the ground, talking and laughing in small groups. The weather was cold and snow was on the ground, but for a moment it felt as if she were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first half of what was originally intended to be a much longer chapter. I will be away for the next few days and I didn't want to wait a whole two weeks before posting anything. The next part will be completely Daenerys and Jon.


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